


Thundershower

by notvelma



Series: Whiskey Bent and Hell Bound [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notvelma/pseuds/notvelma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy is the thunder, West is the lightning, and Hank hates storms, but he can't escape the aftermath of this one – even if it means acknowledging his inappropriate feelings toward his own brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. West Connolly

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate versions of Tommy and Hank from the Howard series, West from "Damaged Goods".
> 
> Contains: incest, threesome, mentions of drug use, some violence, language, and of course sexuality, hence the explicit label.

_Nobody's perfect._

People use that as an excuse for when they fuck up and don't want to take responsibility. So I'm gonna be honest with you – I've fucked up a couple times. I have my vices. I like weed, I like sex, I like a little danger. But I don't drink alcohol. I've never stolen anything, or gotten into a fight – well, at least not with anybody that didn't need it. And to tell you the truth, some guys need it. You can usually tell when a guy needs a fight by the look in his eye. Same with fucking, too, and sometimes a guy wants both. Those kinds of guys are my favorite.

Tommy Howard is one of those guys always looking for a fight and a fuck. Funny thing is that he's big and butch and thinks he has all this swagger, but once I get him out of his clothes, he's all mine. My hand on his cock means I can get anything from him, 'cause what he really wants is for me to suck him off. He'll do anything to get me to blow him.

Leaning up, I say into his ear in kind of a low voice, "You know who's really sexy? Your little brother, Hank." I keep stroking his cock, watching his face even though I already have a pretty good idea how he's going to react. "I bet Hank's a good fuck. What do you think?" 

Shifting his legs further apart to give me better access, Tommy says, "Good luck getting him to top you. Ten to one he's a bottom bitch. With an ass like that –" He doesn't finish that train of thought, just sort of groans, though it's hard to tell if the groan is because of the hand job or because he's thinking about his brother's ass. 

"I've never seen Hank's ass up close before, except in those uniform pants," I say honestly. "But he looks real sexy in that police officer uniform." 

"What are you talking about?" asks Tommy, peering at me. "You got some kind of cop kink or something? It's just Hank." He probably thinks he sounds dismissive, but I can tell by the way his breath hitches that there's something else going on. 

All it takes from me is a subtle change in my tone of voice and my eyes open a little wider and I can play the part of an innocent. Tommy doesn't even notice the difference, doesn't realize I'm playing him. "Well, not exactly a cop kink. It's more like all of you Howard boys are just so hot, and I was thinking," Here, I put my hand on his chest and look up at him with wide, innocent eyes, "that it would be really fun if you and me and Hank all got to play together. Wouldn't that be great?" 

Now, I'm not stupid, and I wouldn't have even brought up the suggestion if I didn't already know it would be well-received. I'd already gotten Tommy drunk and loosened up, and I had a good idea that he might actually _like_ the idea of sharing me with his brother – or, rather, sharing his brother with me. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that Tommy Howard wants to fuck his little brother. And I want to be the one to make that happen. And yeah, so I want a chance to be with both men at once. Who wouldn't?

"You're only suggesting that because you want Hank to fuck you. He ain't gonna do it just because I'm there. Besides, he's too goody-goody to think a threesome is a good idea," Tommy tells me, sounding way too logical for someone as drunk as he should be. Then he sighs. "But I always thought it'd be real hot with some guy in between us like that. Of course it'd be hot with a woman, too, but since Hank ain't into chicks, that idea wouldn't go over." He shrugs. "Like I said, no way he'd agree to it." 

This is where I climb into his lap, facing him with my ass right within grabbing distance. "Well," I say, still using that cute innocent voice, "If I can convince him to go for it, then will you agree to it, too?" I ask him, as though I don't already know how he'll answer.

Tommy sighs again. "If I say yes, will you let me fuck you now? Because I'm super horny and all you've done is touch me a little. Fuck, West, you are such a goddamn tease, you know that?" He groans a little, cupping my ass with one of his huge hands. 

What Tommy doesn't realize is that this is exactly where I want him. "I suppose I could do that," I say coyly. "You got yourself a deal, mister Howard." 

Everything is going according to plan...


	2. Hank Howard

It is quarter to two in the morning when Hank Howard finally gets home from a very long shift at his job as a police officer, during which he'd been out patrolling for drunk drivers, delinquent teenagers, and anyone else of the opinion that the law doesn't apply to them. After working nine long days of overnight shifts, Hank has finally earned three full days of rest. He's looking forward to some much needed sleep and relaxation and maybe some time for practicing some new baking recipes he's been thinking about. 

However, the minute he walks in the front door of the house he shares with his older brother, Hank knows that his weekend has been ruined before he even has a chance to start it. 

The entire house smells like pot and burnt bacon, and the floor is littered with empty beer cans. Hank follows the trail garbage into the living room, where he finds an empty pizza box on the floor along with more beer cans, a greasy paper plate with a few slices of bacon left on it, and clothes of various sizes strewn about. It certainly looks like the aftermath of an interesting evening. 

Lying on his back on the couch is Hank's brother, Tommy, completely naked. Snoring lightly on top of him is West Connolly, a mutual acquaintance of theirs. If Hank wasn't so upset with the mess they'd made, he might have taken a chance to appreciate the sight the two made. 

At six and half feet tall and two-hundred eighty pounds, Tommy Howard is a big man by any standards. With a hairy chest, two days worth of stubble on his face and arms covered with various tattoos, Tommy can be intimidating at times, even to people who know him well. West, however, is a foot shorter than Tommy, with a fairly slender body, beautiful pale skin and a mess of dark curly hair that just makes him look even more endearing. Though he also has tattoos, his seem more artistically placed than Tommy's, which are just there to make him looking more like a big tough thug. Thinking about the two men together makes something seize up in Hank's chest. 

Tearing his eyes away from the smooth curve of West's ass, Hank sticks two fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly to wake them up, figuring that it's easier than trying to call their names. 

Immediately, Tommy sits bolt upright, accidentally knocking West onto the floor with the movement. Startled, Tommy looks around the room. "What the fuck, Hank?" he exclaims when he notices that it is only his younger brother standing there. 

Hank is disgusted to see the condom still covering Tommy's flaccid cock, and he wonders how long ago the two of them fucked and how long Tommy's been wearing that used condom. It's so unsanitary. "Why don't you tell me what the fuck this mess is?" He's not going to even mention the sex, because whatever he says is going to sound wrong or inappropriate. 

Blinking, West looks up at him. "Are you gonna arrest me, Officer Howard?" he asks in that faux innocent voice that sounds _almost_ sincere, and maybe Hank would fall for it if he didn't know West so well, didn't know exactly how insincere the guy actually was. 

What he really wants to do is grab West by the scruff of his neck and toss him out of the house, then maybe punch Tommy in the face for being such a goddamn drunken idiot, but instead Hank just says, "The two of you are going to clean this shit up and then you'll either put some fucking clothes on or find a better place to sleep than the fucking living room, all right? I'm going to bed and sleep for at least ten hours and I don't give a shit what you do after you clean, but I don't want to hear any fucking noise from either one of you." He gives them both his best Police Officer glare and then storms down the hall to his own bedroom, which is thankfully the furthest room in the house from the living room.

Though he's ready to drop into sleep right where he's standing, Hank still takes the time to put his clothes in the hamper, hanging his tie up and lining his shoes up together by the other pairs. Then he folds back the sheets and crawls into bed, enjoying the feel of the cool bed sheets against his bare legs. 

It doesn't take long for the exhaustion to set in, and Hank falls asleep easily.

*

Hank's plan to sleep in until at least noon is interrupted when he wakes to loud knocking on his bedroom door. "Go away!" he calls to whoever is stupid enough to try disrupting his sleep. "I'm not here." He rolls over and sticks the pillow over his head. He's too exhausted to care about whatever Tommy wants from him. It's too early for this shit anyway.

The knock comes again. "You might want to get up. Nick's on the phone," says Tommy through the door. "He really wants to talk to you. It sounds pretty important," he adds, sounding amused about it. 

While Hank would like nothing better than to tell Nick to fuck right off so he can go back to sleep, he knows that ignoring his eldest brother's phone call is just asking for trouble. "I'm coming," he calls, and throws off the covers. His body protests being forced up so early, but he ignores it for now.

As soon as Hank opens his bedroom door, Tommy thrusts the cordless phone in his face, smirking like he knows a secret.

After taking the phone from Tommy, Hank closes the bedroom door in his brother's face. "Hello?" he says into the mouth piece, wondering what it is that Nick wants from him this time. 

"Hank, I got a bill in the mail from the car company. It says that you're two months behind in your payments," says Nick carefully, and it's a bit scary how much he sounds like their father used to. "I am starting to regret having agreed to sign that loan for you. That's almost seven hundred dollars you owe them, plus the late fees." And there is his lecturing, patronizing teacher voice that Hank can't stand.

Sighing, Hank says, "Sorry, Nick. It's just that things have been kind of hectic this month, what with my increased work load, and the water and phone bills being a lot higher than usual." Truth is, Hank had completely forgotten about making his car payment. He's not even sure if he paid this month's internet bill, either, but that one's not as important. "I can probably pay about four hundred now, and then add the rest on to June's bill," he offers. He knows that Nick already thinks he's irresponsible and lazy. Being the youngest of four siblings at twenty-four, with a job that doesn't pay nearly enough – a job that Hank only got because he had some idealistic dream of changing the world – well that's enough to give his brother the impression that he didn't care about anything. 

The silence from Nick's end seems interminable, and then, finally, he says, "I paid a thousand for you already, so you're ahead for next month, but this is going on the tally of what you owe me for everything else, okay?" Even when Nick is helpful, he manages to find a way to condescend to Hank about it. "By the way, we're having a dinner next Saturday to meet Jen's new boyfriend and to celebrate Tristan's tenth birthday. It's at six and you and Tommy are both invited."

"Okay," replies Hank. He's a bit surprised that his sister has a boyfriend that he doesn't know about, but she's always gotten on better with Nick anyway, which is probably why she told him instead of Hank. "And thanks," he adds.

After they hang up, Hank thinks about going back to bed, but he can hear Tommy blasting AC/DC in the kitchen and he knows that trying to sleep now would be futile. Sighing again, he makes his bed and then heads out to the kitchen for some breakfast, as well as to see if West has spent the night or not. He hopes that the guy has gone home, though, wherever home may be. 

He's pleased to see the living room has been tidied, though the scent of cannabis still lingers; he'll have to do a thorough cleaning later – maybe he'll do the whole house if he has time. Hank finds Tommy in the kitchen, music blaring from his old-school stereo as he fries some bacon on the griddle.

"I hope you aren't burning that," says Hank as he approaches his brother at the stove. He watches Tommy for a minute and then says, "Hey, did you know that Jen has a boyfriend?" It shouldn't bother him so much that she didn't tell him about it, but Hank can't help being upset. Sometimes he feels as though he's everybody's least favorite. 

Tommy reaches over to turn the music down. "Well, I knew she was sort of seeing this guy, Evan, but I didn't think it was serious." He shrugs. "He ain't really her type, anyway. And before you ask, no, I ain't going to that stupid dinner for the fucking devil spawn's birthday. That kid fucking hates me and so does Rita. Don't know why Nick ever fucking married her." 

It's kind of funny to Hank, because Tristan _loves_ his Uncle Hank, and Hank gets along better with Rita than he does with Nick. He supposes that's because Rita is just as much a dork as he is. "I wasn't going to ask you that," insists Hank. He knows Tommy isn't going to want to go. He probably won't go, either, mostly because he doesn't want a lecture. "Actually, I wanted to know if West went home yet or if he's still hiding around here somewhere." He thinks about the sight of West's flawless naked body and finds himself getting hard.

Smirking – maybe because he knows what kind of reaction Hank's having even though he's not even looking at his brother – Tommy says, "He walked home after you had your fit last night. I think you kinda spooked him a little." Tommy doesn't add anything to that, but instead goes to, "You wanna mix up some pancake batter so we can have something to go with the bacon? I was going to do it myself, but since you're up, you might as well do the hard work." He flashes a wolfish grin.

"Like I would ever let you make pancakes," says Hank with a roll of his eyes. "I will leave all the meat to you, but everything else is mine to cook." 

"I get _all_ the meat?" asks Tommy, raising his eyebrows. He reaches his hand toward Hank's crotch, but Hank pulls back, face heated. "But not yours, huh, baby brother?" 

The heat running through Hank's body is inappropriate, even if Tommy's comment was meant to be a joke. Hank is scared to admit what it means that his dick gets harder thinking about his brother's hand on his body like that. He can't say anything about his feelings because he knows it's the part of him too fucked up to even acknowledge.

Ignoring Hank's body language, as he is wont to do, Tommy steps closer, trapping his brother against the counter. "You know, West told me that he wants you to fuck him. He got real sad when I said that you're probably a bottom. Too bad, though, because he's got a real nice ass." Tommy makes a little noise that's kind of like a groan, closing his eyes as though he's remembering the sex. "You missed out." 

"I wouldn't want to have sex with a guy like him anyway," says Hank. He doesn't bother to correct Tommy on the "bottom" comment since it's mostly true; for the most part that's how it turns out. Still, he can imagine himself fucking West, if only for the sake of taking what used to belong to Tommy. Maybe that's fucked up, too, but since it's only an idea in Hank's head, it's easier for him to ignore.

"Right." Tommy doesn't believe him, but he pulls away anyway and goes back to focus on the bacon, which looks about a minute away from burning. "Are you going to make pancakes or are you gonna stand there with your dirty thoughts?" asks Tommy.

He chooses not to respond to that, and instead takes out the ingredients for the pancakes. Cooking, at least, is something that has always relaxed Hank when he's stressed or flustered. He needs that comfort right now.

*

One of Hank's favorite activities is baking. He'd learned the basics of it from his mother when he was young – despite the insistence from both of his brothers that baking was for girls. Over the years, he'd improved to the point that his brothers had mainly stopped teasing and instead made special requests for desserts and pastries from him.

Today, though, Hank isn't filling any requests and instead is just baking for relaxation. He'd spent his first 'vacation' day cleaning up after Tommy; today he wants to do something for himself, especially with Tommy out of the house. With his hands busy kneading dough and mixing flour, it's easy for him to push aside his jealous thoughts about West and his brother. He needs to keep himself distracted. 

By four-thirty in the afternoon, Hank has already made an apple pie, apple-cinnamon muffins, and two different kinds of cookies. The entire kitchen smells delicious, even if there is flour on every surface and dirty dishes piled up in the sink. The germaphobe in Hank shudders at the mess, but the baker in him appreciates what it signifies. 

Tommy's due home soon, so rather than start on his next batch of cookies, Hank starts on supper, ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him what a good house wife he is being. So what if he likes cooking? If he didn't cook, then all they'd ever eat would be barbecue or takeout Chinese because Tommy has no kitchen skills at all. Hank has to convince himself that none of that makes him a house wife, especially not Tommy's. 

For dinner, he makes his favorite recipe of chicken with gravy, biscuits, and vegetables. It's one of the recipes he learned from his mother, and it always reminds him of her. 

By six-thirty, dinner has cooled and Tommy is not yet home. Annoyed, Hank starts without him, and once again ignores the voice in his head that is telling him how much like a house wife he really is, as though that somehow makes Tommy his husband. That whole train of thought just brings to mind what kind of things that would happen between them if they were husbands instead of brothers, and Hank doesn't want to allow himself to even consider that. It's wrong. 

It's nearly seven thirty and Hank is clearing the dishes and the leftover food when he hears the front door. Moments later, Tommy stumbles into the kitchen, stinking of beer and sweat. From his knees down, he's caked in mud, which he tracks over the previously clean kitchen floors. He strips out of his dirty t-shirt and tosses that on the counter as he opens the fridge to take out a beer. "Dinner smells good," he says, his voice unnecessarily loud. 

"Where the hell did all that mud come from?" is Hanks first question, though there are more of them circling around in his head. "Fuck's sake, you could have at least taken the boots off at the door," he grumbles, more than a little annoyed.

After he cracks open the beer, Tommy sets it down on the table and then drops into one of the kitchen chairs before he starts peeling off his boots. "Red's truck got stuck in the mud down by Walter's field, so me and Dave helped to get him out. Took all three of us, plus the winch on my truck. Don't know what that dumbass did to get himself stuck that good, but he paid us with a case of beer for helping him out," Tommy says, grinning.

"How much did you drink?" Hank asks, already knowing he won't like the answer. Walter's field is at least twenty minutes from their house, and Hank can already visualize Tommy's truck swerving down the road the entire way home. "Never mind. I don't want to know." It's not as though this behavior is anything new for Tommy, either.

Tommy stands up from the table and begins to strip out of his dirty jeans while Hank watches. "I'm fine, Hank," he insists. "Get me a plate of whatever it is you made for dinner, though, 'cause I ain't eaten since lunch and I'm starved." Now in only his black boxer briefs, Tommy picks up his muddy boots and dirty clothes and carries them down the hall to the laundry room.

Annoyed, Hank shouts after him, "I'm not your fucking house wife!" but fixes Tommy a plate anyway. He's such a pushover.

When Tommy returns a moment later, he hasn't bothered to put any clothes on, and he sits at the table in his briefs. "Thanks, baby brother," he says, flashing Hank a grin before he starts digging in, eating as though he hasn't seen food in days instead of merely hours. 

Despite already being fairly intoxicated, Tommy continues to drink through dinner, and then after dinner in the living room while Hank tries to watch a movie. He's already a very physical person, but when drunk, it is nearly impossible for Tommy to keep his hands to himself. He starts out on one end of the couch by himself, but before long, he's pressed up against Hank, one arm around his brother's shoulders, the other resting on his thigh. 

Though he knows his brother is rambling on about something, Hank can't understand a word out of Tommy's mouth, so he ignores him and tries to watch the movie. He can barely think with that nearly nude body hanging off him, though. When Tommy starts nuzzling his neck, Hank can't ignore his body's reaction, and he tries to push Tommy away.

Even drunk, Tommy is strong, and despite Hank's efforts, he doesn't stop. Instead, his hand travels further up Hank's leg as the nuzzling turns into sloppy kissing, Tommy's tongue sensually tracing over the pulsing vein he finds there.

Hank doesn't want to push back anymore, doesn't want to listen to the voice calling him a filthy pervert, doesn't want to have to deny the pleasure he gets as Tommy's big hand presses against his crotch. "Fuck," he gasps, before he can stop himself. There's no denying that he's hard, and Tommy knows it, too. "Tommy," he says raggedly. 

"Shh," whispers Tommy against his neck. "It's okay baby. I know what you want." His hips are pressed into Hank's thigh, and as he rubs at Hank's crotch with his hand, Tommy starts humping Hank's leg, breathing heavily.

When Tommy's booze-soaked breath reaches Hank's nose, he suddenly comes awake, realizing that the only reason his brother is doing this is because he's wasted. That thought gives Hank enough strength to push his brother away and get himself up from the couch. "Go to bed and sober up," he orders Tommy stiffly, and then marches down the hall to his bedroom, where he lasts a whole ten minutes before giving in and jerking off.

*

The next morning, Hank finds Tommy sprawled out on the couch, snoring loudly with his mouth wide open. He clearly hadn't even gone to his own bed since Hank had left him the night before; he probably just passed out on the couch a couple minutes after their encounter was over.

Sighing, Hank nudges him awake. "Go shower," he says when Tommy blinks up at him. Then, before waiting to see what his brother will do, Hank goes into the kitchen to see about breakfast. He needs to get some food into Tommy if he wants his brother to sober up. 

As he butters his muffin, Hank wonders what he's going to say to Tommy. They're going to have to talk about last night at some point, and Hank really can't think of any reasonable excuse for the way he'd acted. At least Tommy can blame the alcohol, but Hank had been stone cold sober; there's no excuse for him letting it go on like that. He runs his hand through his hair, hating himself and his own fucked up brain for being that attracted to his own brother. Why the fuck can't he just turn it all off?

"What's for breakfast?" asks Tommy as he enters the room, his hair still wet from his shower. At least now he's bothered to get dressed, though the white 

Instead of answering him, Hank gestures to the muffins on the counter from yesterday. He still doesn't know what they're going to say to each other, so he starts with, "We need to talk about last night." 

Rolling his eyes, Tommy says, "Are you still mad about the mud on the floor? Jesus, Hank, just mop it up. Hell, you like cleaning things. Should be fun for you." He eats one muffin in three bites and grabs another, starting in on that one next. "Jesus Christ," he mumbles around a mouthful. The way he looks at Hank betrays nothing about the other half of last night – as though he doesn't even remember feeling up his own little brother. "Why are you staring at me?" 

"For fuck's sake, Tommy, you were plastered last night. Do you not remember any of what happened?" Hank asks. He starts to feel a bit of relief. If Tommy doesn't have any memory of it, then they don't have to talk about it and he's safe from having to deal with his emotions. 

Tommy shrugs. "Ain't got a fucking clue what you're on about. Think I blacked out sometime after dinner. Why? Did I punch you or something?" He's amused, like the whole thing is a joke. Maybe to him it is, but that's because he doesn't even know what he did to Hank, and has no fucking idea how badly Hank wanted it, too. Tommy never has to deal with the consequences of his stupid actions. 

"Never mind," says Hank. "Forget I said anything." Looks like this is a secret he'll end up keeping on all on his own. "But on that topic, you really need to curb your drinking. I don't know how much you actually had to drink last night, but I know for a fact it was way too much." The Cop Voice comes out automatically for Hank, but it makes Tommy's hackles rise. 

There's a long moment when Tommy just stares at him, but it passes, and then his defensive anger seems to explode. "You got no fucking right to tell me anything about my drinking that I do in my own free time! You're not my fucking father, okay asshole?" He shoves Hank into the counter and then looms over him threateningly. "You think you're so much better than me because you got that fucking badge?" 

It's not like Hank can't hold his own, but Tommy's a lot bigger than he is and any physical fight they got into would most likely end in Tommy's favor. 

Hank's back digs into the countertop as he tries to create distance between them. "All I'm saying is maybe don't drink so much all the time. Do you at least remember the part last night where you admitting to driving home while you were under the influence?" he asks. "Because that's illegal, Tommy. Just be responsible for yourself once in awhile and stop doing so many reckless things. Then we wouldn't even be having this stupid talk," Hank tells him in his firm cop voice.

"Don't you fucking lecture me, you stupid bastard," Tommy growls. "You got no fucking idea about anything, ain't go no idea what's going on up here." He taps his head. "Drink is all I got, so maybe you can shut your self-righteous mouth." Tommy gives Hank one last glare before pushing away. Tommy grabs his keys and storms out of the house before Hank can speak.

*

The call comes over the radio just before the end of Hank's shift.

"Number six, we got reports of a guy passed out in Murphy's parking lot, description matching your brother." 

"Yeah, and?" Hank radios back.

"You want to take him home so he can sober up, or should we send somebody to book him?" The dispatcher sounds amused, and Hank knows what a fucking joke it is to the other officers that his brother has done this before – passed out in a bar parking lot, dead to the world. Hank has had to pick him up when Tommy's been completely smashed, but he really doesn't want to go through this shit anymore, especially when he knows that it won't do Tommy any good. When is he ever going to change? 

The fact that this isn't a first for Tommy is further proof that Hank was right about his brother having a problem. Sighing, Hank radios back, "I'm not picking his drunk ass up again. Get somebody to take him in overnight, at least. Asshole needs to learn a lesson." 

He's through enabling his brother.


	3. Tommy Howard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with somewhat explicit threesome + incest sex, so yep.

Sitting in a jail cell, staring at the dirty concrete wall as he waits for the cops to finally let him out, Tommy's thoughts drift back to when he was seventeen and he had accidentally walked in on Hank and a classmate making out in Hank's bedroom. Hank had been shirtless, his pants unzipped as the other boy's hand made its way into Hank's boxers. 

The first thing Tommy remembers about that moment is being shocked for a minute to discover that his younger brother was into dudes. At that age, Tommy had only just started to realize his own bisexuality, and Hank was three years younger and already ahead of him with experience with men! And Tommy had been turned on by the sight of the two boys – more than he knew he should have been considering that his brother had been the focus of all the action. 

He blames that event for starting him down the fucked up path that has been the rest of his adult life so far. Here he is now, drinking too much to try to get rid of the inappropriately obsessive thoughts about his younger brother. And it's landed him in jail for the first time – granted, only overnight, but that doesn't mean he won't be in here longer, sometime down the road. Tommy's always felt like the most fucked up in the family, like he's the one that they're all embarrassed of. This night in jail proves that. 

He looks up when he hears footsteps, and he sees that it's a cop coming down the hall, but not the same one that booked him last night. This one's a woman with short red hair, and she comes over to the cell to unlock it. "You're all set," she tells him in a pleasant voice – a hell of a lot nicer than the other cops were, anyway. "You're free to go." 

Sitting up makes him a little dizzy, but he doesn't feel hung over, so he counts it as good. "You think Hank's mad at me?" he asks her as she escorts him to the front so he can collect his things.

"Oh, I'm sure he is," she replies, just as cheery as before. "I don't really blame him, though."

Tommy doesn't respond to that because he doesn't know what to say. Tommy wonders if Hank's anger has anything to do with that night that Tommy got drunk and humped his leg like a fucking dog. That had been a stupid mistake, to be so sloppy and reminiscent of teenagers making out in the dark. They were adults for fuck's sake. If he was going to fuck his brother, he wanted to do it right. He wanted it to be perfect – give Hank a real good blow job to loosen him up, and then fuck him nice and slow...

Once they reach the desk, the clerk gets Tommy all checked out and hands him his phone, wallet, and keys. "You'll have to pick up your truck at the impound lot, though," he tells Tommy. 

Yeah, the impound lot, which is on the other side of town. Sighing, Tommy thanks him and steps outside, shoving his keys into his pocket, since they're basically useless. Then he checks his phone for messages. There's a text from West, sent around three in the morning, which was a couple hours after he'd been booked. 

_hank said yes to the ménage a trois! where are you anyway? come play!!!_

He wonders if West is at the house now. He's not sure he's ready for that conversation, not with Hank angry at him. Sighing, he types back: _spent the night in jail. my truck's impounded. are you at the house w/Hank?_

While he's waiting for a response, Tommy heads down the sidewalk. He's pretty sure there's a bar around here somewhere, and he sure could use a drink. All this thinking about Hank is fucking up his head. He doesn't really want this whole threesome thing, and he doesn't want West anywhere near his brother. All he wants is to drink himself into oblivion and forget every stupid thing he's done in the last week, or month, or forever. All of it.

He finds the bar, which is really more of a hole in the wall dive than his usual place, but as long as they serve whiskey, Tommy doesn't care. That there are two other guys sitting at the bar with drinks is a bonus; Tommy won't be the only other loser drinking this time of day. 

It's barely two in the afternoon, and while it's not exactly early, he knows that if Hank were here, he'd be lecturing Tommy about it. _Well Hank can fuck off_ , thinks Tommy to himself as he approaches the bar and orders straight whiskey. "The good stuff," he clarifies to the greasy looking bartender, because no way is he drinking that watered down bottom shelf piss. 

The guy next to him at the bar is young and blond and handsome – nothing like the alcoholics he's used to drinking with. When Tommy sits down, the guy looks over at him with the dazed look of somebody who's already half-gone. He slurs something that Tommy can't figure out, and then turns back to his vodka cranberry with a heavy sigh. Now that's more like what Tommy's used to.

Though he doesn't want to think about it, Tommy's brain is telling him: _Hank drinks vodka cranberries. Hank wants a threesome with West. Hank knows you want to fuck him. Hank, Hank, Hank._

The bartender puts the glass of whiskey in front of Tommy and after he slides the money over, Tommy grabs the glass and takes a long drink in hopes of silencing the painful thoughts.

In his pocket, Tommy's cell phone chimes, and he pulls it out to check it. It's a text from West:

 _Yes I'm at your place. hank and I had fun earlier! you gonna come play?_ It's followed quickly by another message that is also from West:

_Hank asked if you want him to come pick you up, or are you getting a ride?_

Tommy doesn't reply to either message and instead finishes his drink before order a second from the bartender. He's going to need it.

*

It's after six when Tommy finally gets home, but it only took him that long because after he left the bar, he'd decided to walk home instead of taking the bus. It had taken him most of an hour to get there – an hour of walking and thinking and, not that he'd admit it, but there may have been some drunk crying. Now he's sweaty and dirty and still kind of drunk – but not as drunk as he wants to be.

Hank is waiting for him in the front hall, but he doesn't look angry as Tommy shuts the door behind himself and toes out of his boots. Rather than speak, he helps Tommy into the kitchen – because of course Tommy's stumbling and can't really stand up straight – and into one of the chairs at the table. The way he looks at Tommy is hard to read, which is unusual because Hank is normally an open book with his emotions. "Are you okay, Tommy? Do you need something to eat?"

Grumbling, Tommy says, "You don't need to take care of me. You're not my fucking wife." By all accounts, Hank should be upset. He should be shouting and lecturing, not – well, whatever this is. Tommy doesn't deserve it. 

"Somebody has to," says Hank, and turns away. 

The silence is heavy between them, so when Hank drops a plate of leftover lasagna in front of Tommy, the clattering noise seems to echo uncomfortably. 

After he takes his first bite, Tommy realizes how hungry he really is, and he finishes the meal quickly. He feels much better with food in his belly. Standing up, he says, "I'm gonna go shower."

"Um," says Hank before he can get too far. "West said he was going to come back later tonight for the – um." He runs his hand through his hair nervously. "Are you – I mean, this is okay with you? This whole thing that he suggested?" 

"Hell yeah!" exclaims Tommy, much more enthusiastically than he feels. "Now you'll get a chance to see what West is like in bed. He's got a terrific ass. You'll love it." He claps Hank on the shoulder and then heads down the hall to use the shower. Part of him wishes Hank didn't sound so unsure about it, because it's just making him feel guilty. But another part of him hates the idea of West touching Hank at all. What if Hank likes it? What's Tommy supposed to do then? 

When he gets into the shower, Tommy turns the water up as hot as he can stand it and tries not to think about what's going to happen later. He wonders how drunk he'll be able to get before Hank says anything, because he's sure the only way he can tolerate this is with some liquor. 

He never should have agreed to it in the first place, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time, with West teasing him like that. He'd been so fucking horny that he would've agreed to anything. 

If they just get it over with, Tommy will apologize to Hank and find a way to fix it. He doesn't want Hank to think that's what he wants, even though he knows he's done a shit job proving it so far. But what good way is there to tell your younger brother that you'd really like to fuck him – that you basically want to be his boyfriend because you're insanely jealous of anybody else that comes near him? There's no way to make that conversation anything less than awkward. 

After he's finished in the shower, Tommy puts on a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt before he goes back out to the kitchen. He finds Hank at the sink, washing dishes by hand, and Tommy wonders if he should say something. He doesn't, and instead opens the fridge to get a beer. If he starts now, he should be good to go by the time West shows up, especially since most of the drinks from the bar seem to have worn off. Tommy cracks open the beer and he takes a sip.

At the sound of the bottle opening, Hank turns around and glares at Tommy. "Are you serious? You just got home from jail for being drunk , and now you're drinking again? Why don't you ever quit while you're ahead? Jesus." He rolls his eyes

The rage comes before he can stop it, and Tommy hurls the bottle at the cabinets near Hank's head. It breaks and shatters, spilling beer everywhere. "I'm gonna drink if I fucking want to drink, and if you want to try to stop me, I got no fucking problem breaking your stupid face or your fucking arm," he growls. "If we're going to do this stupid threesome that you and West want so fucking badly, then I'm going to need a drink or two." Part of him wants Hank to challenge him, just so he has an excuse to punch his brother and make him bleed. Tommy's whole body is itching for a fight. He doesn't just want it – he needs it. He feels like he might explode and shatter just like the beer bottle.

To his surprise, Hank gives him exactly what he wants. "If you want to beat me up," says Hank, stepping away from the counter and toward Tommy, "go for it. You think that'll make it better? You think anything is gonna change if you knock the shit out of me? You'll still be an alcoholic," he points out. 

"Yeah, but if you got a fucking broken nose from it, I'd feel better, drink or no," says Tommy truthfully, but he knows that Hank is right and that things are never going to change. He's just going to be an alcoholic fuck up who is in love with his younger brother. Punching Hank won't make a difference. 

He takes a swing anyway, but Hank blocks it with unexpected strength, knocking Tommy off balance. Then Hank pulls back his own fist and clocks Tommy in the face, missing his nose but getting a good shot with his knuckles right across Tommy's cheek.

"Fuck!" shouts Tommy, stumbling a little. "You're a real fucking asshole, you know that?" Then he pushes Hank back into the counter, using his large body to trap him there. 

Both men are breathing heavily, and Hank's eyes flick to Tommy's cheek, where he'd been punched. "You're bleeding," he says. "Jesus, I didn't mean to make you bleed." Hank's body is trembling as though he's frightened, but the look on his face suggests something different entirely.

When Tommy cants his hips just the right way, Hank sucks in his breath. As if that reaction weren't enough, he's pretty sure that he can feel Hank's hard-on pressing against his thigh. Fuck, what is he supposed to do now? Licking his lips, Tommy wonders how Hank would react to a kiss. He glances down at his brother's mouth, feeling very tempted. 

"Aw, did you start without me?" West's voice breaks through like nails on a fucking chalkboard, and it's all Tommy can do not to turn around and punch the little asshole in the face. 

Though he doesn't really want to, Tommy steps away from Hank and turns toward the fridge, ignoring West for the time being. "Anybody else want a beer?" he asks.

"Is that what's all over the floor?" asks West, sounding amused. "You boys have a little domestic dispute or something? Is that what happened to Tommy's face?"

"Tommy's face happened because he's a fucking asshole," says Hank. "But that's nothing new." 

West laughs at that, a stupid giggly laugh that makes Tommy want to punch him.

"Does anybody want a beer?" Tommy repeats, not pleased with the direction the conversation has taken. When he turns around, both men are watching him. He feels his hands start to shake and he knows the rage is bubbling under the surface. He's got to control it, but he doesn't know how. 

"Let's skip the drinks and get to it," says West. "I'm horny." He puts his hand on Hank's arm and Tommy has to concentrate on not throwing things. Fuck, he's not going to make it through this, is he?

With a look at Tommy, Hank says, "Let me just clean up that wound on Tommy's face before he bleeds all over the house." Then he reaches for Tommy, leads his brother to the sink. He wets a washcloth and dabs Tommy's face with it. His gentle touch is confusing, and Tommy grabs his brother's wrist. 

For a long moment, they're both just staring at each other, and it's difficult for Tommy not to press Hank into the countertop and –

"Well I'm going to get ready then," says West. "Feel free to join me when you're done making cow-eyes at each other, Jesus Christ." The sound of his footsteps retreats down the hallway. 

Hank flushes and turns away. "You should be fine," he says to Tommy. 

_Shouldn't we talk about this?_ thinks Tommy, but there's no way he's going to be able to talk West into leaving instead they go through with this. He puts his hand on Hank's shoulder. "Come on, are you ready for this? It'll be fun." He picks up his beer bottle and takes a drink before heading down the hall to find West – hopefully in Hank's bedroom and not his. 

The door to Hank's room is wide open and West is reclining on the king-sized bed with his clothes already removed. Tommy stands in the doorway for a minute, looking down at West's beautiful naked body – because even if West is kind of dick, it's hard to deny that he's gorgeous – and wondering what it's going to be like with the three of them in there. He's done threesomes before, but not with his brother. What's the protocol for this sort of thing? Is he even allowed to touch Hank? 

"There are condoms in the top drawer of my dresser," says Hank from behind him. "I'm not doing this without proper protection." He pushes past Tommy into the room and starts rummaging through the drawers to find the supplies. 

Tommy wants to push Hank up against the dresser and then pull his pants down and fuck him hard until the furniture rattles against the wall. At this point, he barely even cares if West is watching them, because he knows that Hank needs it and wants it as badly as he does, but Jesus Christ –

"Come on, Tommy. Take your clothes off," says West. "I want to see your dick." 

Having found the condoms and lube, Hank puts them onto the table beside the bed and then he sort of glances over at Tommy. 

With Hank watching him, Tommy strips out of his shirt and then starts in on the jeans. That's when Hank turns his gaze to West and starts taking his own clothes off. Oh well, Hank'll have plenty of chances to see Tommy's naked body when they get going. 

The clothing removal is the easiest step, and then climbing on the bed together – Tommy's finding it harder and harder to keep his hands off when he sees Hank's entire body, every muscle and vein. God, he wants to touch and the knowledge that he can't just makes it that much worse. 

Instead, he focuses his attention on West, brushing his hands over that smooth body, tracing over the tattoos and dipping his hand down between the man's legs to touch his cock. 

West, though, is tugging Hank closer, rubbing his chest and kissing his mouth like he owns it. Hank seems a little surprised, but he goes for it, leaning over West and letting the kiss go on forever. 

If he wasn't so busy being turned on by watching Hank kiss, Tommy thinks he might have been jealous. It's too hot, though, watching the way Hank uses his tongue, the way the muscles in his arms move as he grips West's shoulder to hold himself up. Watching his cock harden is the best part, though.

But the entire point of this is for West to get Hank to fuck him, and so it's only a matter of time before they've got West on his hands and knees with Hank behind him, cock in hand. 

Tommy can't see how any of this is not incestuous as he strokes his own cock while he's watching his brother fuck West. Because he's not looking at West or listening to his moans and _fuck me harder, oh please please, your cock is so big_. No, his eyes are on Hank's face, on the look of pleasure and the way his muscles are moving and the way he does everything slow and precise and it's so fucking hot that Tommy can barely hold himself back, but somehow he does. 

And Tommy's all right with the fact that the only action he gets is West sucking his cock until he comes – and West only does it after both he and Hank have already finished – because Tommy knows that he's going to get Hank later. Hank needs it. _He_ needs it. 

When they're all done, Hank cleans everything up, throws away the dirty condoms and makes sure everything is clean, and then he stands at the side of the bed, still naked, cock hanging between his legs. He's still hot as fuck and Tommy wants to touch. 

"Let's cuddle," says West, snuggling against Tommy's chest. "Come on, Hank, let's cuddle." He reaches for Hank's hand to bring him back into bed.

Together, the three of them fall asleep on the bed, with West curled in between them and Hank's arms around the smaller man's waist. Tommy's the last to fall asleep, watching the two of them and wondering whether it was as good as Hank had wanted it to be.

*

He dreams about his brother. First there's five year old Hank trailing him around the house and mimicking his every move. Tommy yells at him to go away, but when Hank starts crying, eight year old Tommy kneels down and hugs him.

The dream shifts, and then there's fourteen year old Hank, already broad-shouldered and tall, if gawky and not quite grown into his body. In the dream, he's completely naked, spread wantonly out on a king-sized bed as two handsome blond men have their way with his body. Dream Tommy tries to push them away, but he can't, and when he tries to shout, he realizes that he has no voice.

After that, it's Hank in his police uniform up on a stripper's stage. He's dancing and swinging his hips like Elvis as he slowly peels out of the outfit. That one shifts quickly to a replay of the previous night's events, only with Hank in the middle instead of West. 

When Tommy wakes up, Hank is lying on the bed beside him, flat on his back and snoring loudly. Hank is naked and the bed sheets barely cover his legs, leaving most of his body visible by the sunlight streaming in through the window.

For a long moment, Tommy just stares at him. Hank's always been his little brother; even though Hank is at six-foot-four and almost two hundred and fifty pounds, Tommy is still bigger. Now Tommy is acutely aware of how big Hank is and how much space he occupies. Tommy's never woken up next to somebody that big before; most of the people he's slept with have been smaller and thinner. But Hank is nearly the same size as Tommy, with a broad chest and long legs. And last night, Hank had actually seemed to enjoy topping West. Maybe he isn't such a hardcore bottom after all.

Before he lets himself think too much about it, Tommy climbs over to straddle Hank, a knee on either side of his brother's hips. He braces himself with one hand on the mattress and uses the other to run his fingers down Hank's side, tickling him.

Despite the stimulation, Hank wakes slowly, squirming away from the touch and then blinking his eyes open. He doesn't speak right away, just stares up at his brother. 

"You know," says Tommy, trying to sound as casual as he can manage, "I don't think you got a chance to bottom last night, did you? Want another go at it, then?" 

Blinking, Hank says, "Where's West?" 

Tommy shrugs. "Probably went home. What's it matter, anyway? Now you and me can play by ourselves." He reaches between them and takes Hank's cock in his hands, stroking a few times just to see how Hank will react. Tommy knows he's being selfish; he wants Hank to want this because HE wants it, and it's a lot easier to convince himself that it's okay if Hank goes along willingly. "Won't be much different than last night, except West won't be here in fucking things up."

Underneath him, Hank groans at the touch, and then his fingers are digging hard into Tommy's hip. "This isn't right," he says. "We can't be doing this. Jesus, Tommy, you're my brother," he adds, as though either of them would have forgotten that fact.

Tommy stops and takes his hand away, even if it takes all his willpower to do so. "Don't make this a big thing, Hank. It's just sex, and I know you want it as much as I do." He knows what Hank is thinking because his brother has always been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve – even when he doesn't have any sleeves on. Tommy grins to himself at his little joke. Then he starts stroking his own cock as he looks down at Hank. "Tell me honestly that you don't want this, and I'll stop." But he already knows that Hank won't say no.

For a moment, Hank looks up at him with that same mixture of awe and fear and utter hero worship that Tommy remembers from when they were kids. In a shaky voice, he says, "Tommy, please." Then he grabs Tommy's hips, his fingers digging in. The force of his touch says what his words can't, and his eyes are desperate, pleading. 

Knowing exactly what his brother needs, Tommy dips his head down and takes Hank's face in his hands. As soon as his lips touch Hank's, Tommy can feel the way Hank responds, and it's just as desperate as his gaze had been. He clings to Tommy as though he's afraid he'll fall if they break contact. 

Hank's entire body reacts, much more fervently than last night. He wants this a hell of a lot more than he wanted West, and he's letting Tommy know it.

When the kiss ends, Hank pleads with him, "Oh God, Tommy, please fuck me. I need it, I need it. You know I need it." He looks crazy, drunk with lust.

"I will, baby," promises Tommy. "I'm gonna fuck me like you need me to."

He doesn't want to let go, but he has to in order to grab the lube from the side table where it had been left the night before. And Hank – lovely, beautiful, perfect Hank – rolls over onto his stomach and sticks his ass in the air, as though that's all there is to it. 

"Baby," says Tommy, nudging his brother's hip. "I want you on your back. It's better that way." 

At his urging, Hank rolls back over so he's looking up at Tommy. He stretches his arms above his head, grabbing the headboard briefly. "Is this because it's me or because you just want a place to stick your dick?" he says suddenly, the drunkenness of the previous moment replaced with startling lucidity.

The question is a surprise, and Tommy is not sure why Hank is even asking it. "Jesus Christ, Hank. Why would you even ask that?" But when he sees the look on his younger brother's face, Tommy quickly backtracks. "I don't mean it like that, Hank, Jesus. Of course it's you. Do you really think that if I wanted any old person to fuck I would've picked my brother? Fuck no. But it's just –" And he doesn't know what to say here or how to explain it without sounding stupid. "It's you. It's always been you and I know that makes me a fucking pervert and a freak but it's the truth." 

Hank licks his lips and then tugs Tommy down on top of him for another long, desperate kiss, and Tommy finally gets to feel that tongue he'd seen in action last night. Hank is a great kisser, and his mouth works wonders. When they have more time, Tommy wants to see that mouth put to other uses. Right now, though, he's got something else in mind.

Now that he's in position, Hank is a lot more helpful in making it easier for Tommy to prepare him with the lube. He's already got the condom ready, too, because he knows that Hank will berate him if he forgets – even in the heat of the moment, Hank is still Mr. Prepared. 

The initial feel of his cock inside of Hank is almost orgasmic in itself. It's not just the way it feels – which is _fantastic_ – but the look on Hank's face, the little gasp out of his mouth, the way he clutches his own cock in response. That's what makes it perfect for Tommy.

It only gets better from there, and with Hank's legs wrapped around his back, Tommy's locked into place but he doesn't care. He likes being able to watch his brother's face as he fucks him, fast and hard, just the way Hank wants it. In the midst of it all, Hank's hand is on the back of Tommy's neck, urging him down for yet another kiss. 

And that's the beginning of the end for Tommy, because he closes his hand over Hank's and strokes his brother's cock while he fucks him and he's watching Hank's face and hearing those moans and gasps as his brother comes, and then for Tommy, everything builds up until it's a big flash of lightning and thunder and then he comes, too. He comes inside Hank and he has never wanted anything more in his life than this very moment.

When he pulls out, though, a wave of shame comes over him and he can't look at Hank. "Oh fuck," he says. "Jesus, Hank, I'm sorry." God, what the fuck had he been thinking, fucking his brother of all people? And West probably knows about it and he knows that Tommy's a freak who fucked his brother and Hank is going to hate him and –

"Sorry for what?" says Hank. "Stop that, Tommy. I wanted it as much as you did, so don't do that whole self-loathing thing, please. Just let it be, okay?" He puts a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "Now why don't you take care of that nasty condom and go take a shower while I make us some breakfast." He gets up off the bed and picks up his boxers off the floor.

Is that it? Everything's going to go back to normal after this? Is that all? "I want omelets," he tells Hank as he gets up off the bed as well. "And make sure you put lots of cheese and peppers. And bacon!"

On his way out the room, Hank says, "I'm not your fucking house wife, you know. I don't have to cater to all your needs." But he doesn't sound upset at all. 

Tommy just grins.


End file.
